What Am I Meant To Do
by woodbyne
Summary: Written in a moment of sadness. Alfred reflects on a little mistake with big consequences. Character death, rated for swearing. Best listening: ZZyzx Road - Stone Sour and Talk -Cold Play. Best read if you feel like crying.


Eighteen is the age when you become a grown up, right? The age when everything is supposed to sort itself out. When you magically turn into a responsible adult.

Well, everybody knows that that's not true, and in my case I don't think they minded too much. As long as I was responsible enough to look after my brother.

My own brother.

Matt's always been the more responsible of us. You'd think, "Huh. Twins. Exactly the same," right?

No fucking way man.

I was the younger by three days (There was a _reason_ mom got her tubes tied after she gave birth. Four days, man). But there was a complication and due to some kind of weird medical shit – haemorrhaging to the eyeballs, lack of oxygen, whatever!- Matt was born blind.

You'd never guess though. He has really cool eyes. That sounds gay, but whatever. I've spent my entire life living in the same room as the guy, you notice things.

But I digress. Matt was always quite, introverted. Mom says I stole all Matt's air in the womb, which is why I'm so loud. Yup. Loud, obnoxious jock. That's me!

I don't mind, it means that I get to stick up for my bro.

And Matt always stuck up for me. I'm not the brightest crayon in the box, so I often get called stupid and shit like that. But Matt helps me out, he helped me with my homework, he's made excuses for me my whole life.

Or at least, he used to.

Because I'm the one I can see, I was responsible for the chores. I moaned about it a lot, but I never really minded. I mean, it's not like Matt could actually do them. How the fuck is a blind dude supposed to vacuum the carpet? Fold clothes? I don't even know.

But he always was the smart one.

And people expected me to be responsible. They wanted me to look after him. I can understand why, but I'm still just a kid! Eighteen doesn't mean shit! I'm a dude, aren't we supposed to mature slower or some shit like that?

I was being stupid. Stupid, stupid, dumb, Alfred.

But no one expected anything else. I went to a kegger a few days after my birthday. I was supposed to be watching him. I was, I swear. I had only had one beer, and I was just going to take a piss. Matt wanted to come with me. He was afraid of being by himself in a crowd.

Well, he didn't tell me that, because I should have known. Matt always did hate crowds. Not exactly the idea environment for a dude who can't see shit, right?

I told him to stop being so chicken shit.

I said; don't be a pussy Matt. Five minutes.

Did you know that it only takes three minutes to drown?

While I was taking a leak, my twin brother was drowning. I was whistling and he couldn't even breathe.

If I hadn't left him alone.

If I hadn't had to take a leak. If I hadn't drunk that fucking beer, my bro would still be alive.

We would be joking about a lame frat party we snuck into.

But he's gone.

I came back from my expedition to the WC to find someone floating in the pool. Some people were laughing. Some were pointing. Some were saying,

"Shit man, don't call the fucking cops!"

Matt? Matt! Matt! Where are you, man?

I didn't want to, but I looked at the guy face down in the pool. He had blonde hair. A bit longer than mine. Kinda shaggy. He was tall, a little taller than me. And he was wearing that nasty old hoodie. That one I got him last year. He got me a really cool leather jacket with a 50 on the back. He said I had to wear that until I was 50, and he would wear his. And then we would be these two old dudes in these naff old jackets, but we'd be bros. So it wouldn't matter.

I jumped into the pool. I pulled him out, I was doing CPR. I just couldn't believe that Matt wasn't moving.

He wouldn't wake up!

Some guy told me later that Matt had been trying to get inside. He'd asked him where to go and he'd been smashed, he thought my brother was trying to be funny so he pointed him at the pool.

I punched him in his fucking face.

The state gave me a warning and tried him for involuntary manslaughter and wilful endangerment.

But it should be me.

He'd been trying to find me.

He's my brother. My brother. It's like half of me has been chopped off. Matt was dependant on me for a lot of shit, but I depended on him more. I'm nothing but a loud dumbass without him. He never really needed me the way I needed him. He was an individual. I was just a hanger-off.

We were best friends.

Better than best friends because we _had_ to get along, you know? You can be best bros and not brothers, but I know that it's really hard to be bros and brothers. You're too similar.

But Matt and I were different and alike. He was all refined and shit. I say shit instead of stuff. He liked cuisine, I like fast food. He spoke French, I barely passed high school Spanish.

This is all my fault. Me and a stupid party and some drunk douche-bag.

I really want Matt to be here. Like that time when I crashed dad's car. I totalled that hunk of junk, drove it into a fucking wall. I was really messed up about it. I felt guilty as sin. I felt like shit. And Matt just laughed, he made popcorn, he sat me down and we re-watched Iron Man, laughing at the audio descriptive shit.

I want my big brother to sit me down and make me popcorn. I want to laugh at Robert Downey Jr. with him. I want him to say "I am Iron Man!" in his robot voice, because he was really good at that.

But I'm never going to hear that again.

Our parents won't even look at me. They think it's my fault.

I know it is. They're right.

I didn't kill him, but I might as well have. My bro, my brother, is dead because of me.

I wish I'd drowned too.

What am I supposed to do without him? I can't just go back to normal, because without him there is no normal. It'd be like trying to walk without any legs. You can make the motions, but it's just not the same.

I miss him so much.

What is the point, Matt? I can sit here and talk to this fucking hunk of marble until I'm red, white and blue in the face, that's not going to bring you back. I just want to die too. I don't want to live without my brother. We we're even brothers, man. It was like we were one person.

I just want you to know how sorry I am, Matt. I'll come back here every freaking day for the rest of my miserable life.

It'd probably piss you off, but it'd make me feel better.

You always put up with a lot of shit for my sake.

I'm taking care of your Seeing Eye dog, I swear. Hakunamatata, or whatever you called him.

So I'm not going to forget you, Matt. I promise you that I won't. I'm going to wear that jacket you got me every day until I'm fifty, and beyond. I'm going to be an old dude with an awesome jacket. I'm going to tell my grandkids about their cool uncle Matt. I'm going to name my kid Matt. Even if it's a chick.

I know that'd make you laugh.

I'll learn French and talk to your headstone in it. That'd make you proud, right? You always teased me about being uncultured.

When I get sad, I'll make popcorn and watch Iron Man. But I think it'd make me even sadder. Then I'll remember what you said, how you laughed along, and maybe it'll be a little like I have my bro back for a little while.

But I'll do that later, I promise. For now, I just miss you too much. I don't know what I'm going to do without you. I don't know who I am without you.

So I'm just going to sit here, with my forehead on your name. And I'm going to cry. It's getting late and the sky is going red. Once it gets dark, dad's going to come looking for me. I can't look him in the face, man. What am I going to do? Please tell me, Matthew. Help me figure it out. You know I'm kind of slow.

What am I supposed to do?

You're my bro, man.

I miss you.

And I don't know what to do.

**So I kind of feel sad. And when I'm sad, I write about it. **

**Sorry about my other story. I just needed to cry. **

**I'll get back to it pronto. I'm a third of the way done with 15. **


End file.
